Alagaesia's Dark Girl
by Kashou Kusari
Summary: Alice is pulled into Alagaesia becomes the next dragon rider, and Murtagh has to train her. After escaping to the Varden, Alice falls for Eragon, but is rebuffed, and turns insane,betraying the Varden.Please, just read it and review.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you for reading my very retarded story:D**

**Okay so I'll admit it's a total cliché, but you need not fear, there will be no MurtaghXOC! In fact, there will be no romance at all. *goes on a high***

**Plz shut up about similarities between my OC Alice and Alice Cullen ok?**

**Summary: Girl from our world gets dragged into Alagaesia and becomes green dragon rider, Murtagh has to train her. Yes all you crazy fangirls, there will be plenty of Murtagh. No romance. Awesome in a clichéd, retarded way. anyhoo...**

**DISCLAIMER: don't own anything except Alice and...yeah.**

**Chapter One: Why does this feel so cliché?**

Alice stared quite blankly at the computer screen in front of her, wondering why oh why anyone would find the Renaissance interesting enough to force an assignment about it. Why? Why does the world punish me this way? Alice thought as her pointless life carried on in a very insignificant way. (Note: this is before she finds out she's a dragon rider and not a teenage waste of space). Alice Marie Branthorn was eighteen years old, and currently agonising over why she'd chosen SOSE for one of her TEE subjects. Oh screw this s***, she thought to herself as she walked out of the house, ignoring her mother's rather confuzzled expression at her theatrical exit. But Alice couldn't notice anything with her mind drifting in the clouds.

***

Murtagh's eyes flicked open, now staring at the snow white ceiling above his bed, rather than the inside of his eyelids. His back ached, his limbs ached, essentially everything ached. He raised himself soundlessly from the comforts of his bed, slipping on his black tunic as he left his room. The sky was grey and cloudy, overshadowed. The kind of day Murtagh liked, rather than constant blinding sunlight. He passed thousands of rooms the nobles at their doors lowering the volume in their speech as he passed, but he caught their whispers anyway.

"See him, there, the tall guy in black, they say he murdered the dwarf king-"

Murdered is a bit of a strong term, Murtagh thought, I think 'was forced into killing him' is a bit better.

"Yeah, over there, that's the one, Morzan's son, they say Galbatorix took away his free will but I don't believe it-"

"He may be evil, but I think his noble blood makes him better than the farm boy rider-"

A spasm of pain flashed across Murtagh's face. Eragon. His brother, the only person who had accepted him now hated him, and that just sharpened the point of pain's blade, telling Murtagh that he had no-one. Well, no-one except Thorn.

_How are you Murtagh?_

_How the HELL do you think I am, Thorn?_

_..._

_Sorry, I shouldn't have gotten so angry. But anger is pretty much the only emotion I can feel these days._

_That's okay...The king's looking for you._

_Lovely._

_You better go and see him. Remember when you suffer, so do I._

Another spasm of pain.

_Yeah. Right._

_It'll be okay, Murtagh._

_No, Thorn, it'll never be okay._

***

Alice could not make her eyes focus. She could distinguish colours and that was about it. As her sight returned to her, she sat up and groaned as her back protested violently.

"Tell me your name"

Her eyes flickered around the room frantically, but she could not find the speaker.

"Alice.", she said, "Alice Branthorn"

"Alice", the speaker repeated.

"Um...yeah. Where are you? "

"Right behind you, of course."

Alice got to her feet and whirled around, before unsuccessfully stifling a small gasp of surprise. The speaker was a tall man who looked about nineteen or twenty, with straight, angular, perfectly balanced features and a spiky disarray of raven hair. The pallor of his face gave him a vague resemblance to Edward Cullen, Alice thought wildly, as his unnaturally vivid electric blues eyes pierced her.

"Tell me _your_ name"

He stayed silent.

"Oh, come on, you opened your self up for that one by asking mine. What's your name?"

"Murtagh", he replied rather hesitantly, looking anxiously into the darkness behind him as though he was doing something he shouldn't.

"Why are you here?", Murtagh asked again.

"I...I don't even know where I am."

"Tell the truth. You cannot lie to me. I'll know if you do." he said in a flat, almost bored tone.

"I am telling the truth."

"My lord?" Murtagh asked, rather stiffly, to the darkness, as though he thought a more colourful description of the darkness would be better than, "my lord". Alice was most scared when the darkness spoke back, and a man, even taller than Murtagh, about thirty years old, stepped out. He had a harsh face and an even harsher voice.

"You have done well Murtagh."

"Whatever. I'm sure finding out the name of a girl who dropped out of the sky is a big step in the progress of humanity."

Alice wasn't sure what had happened, but the next thing she knew, Murtagh was on the floor, his breath coming in strained rasps before his back arched and his mouth released a scream of pain.

"W...what the hell are you doing to him? Stop it, stop it stop it stop it! STOP IT!!!"

"Well, well Murtagh, it looks like you've found a friend", the harsh man rasped, as his servant continued to writhe in pain, before suddenly sighing in relief as his body lay still.

"You should know by now, Murtagh, that I do not take kindly to insolence."

"Yes, my lord.", Murtagh gasped.

"And that you will never let sarcasm colour your voice in my presence again, will you?"

"Yes, of course, my lord." The words were said in the same colourless voice as before.

"Remember, Murtagh, that as you suffer so does your dragon." Murtagh's mouth opened to bravely respond, but his comment would never be heard over Alice's cry.  
"DRAGON?! But, that's just...just...unreal, preposterous, can't be happening," she spluttered as Thorn's head poked through the window. Murtagh's face lit up with a wry smile, as he rushed over and embraced the dragon.

_Thorn, are you okay?_

_'Okay' is a very loose term, Murtagh. When your mind cut of from mine you almost gave me a heart attack! _

_I didn't want you to suffer to._

Alice's words once again broke Murtagh's peace.

"I demand someone tell me what the hell is going on?!"

"Even someone who couldn't tell the difference between a weapon and a tool could answer that one", muttered Murtagh. Unfortunately, Alice heard him.

"I tell you the bloody freaking difference! A weapon is something you kill someone with, and a tool, well...that's something like you!", she then spectacularly spat on the ground.  
"I'M SORRY?!!"

"Oh bloody hell, you know what a tool is? Like a S.P.E.D, special education, special people with special needs..." she trailed off at his confuzzled (how I love that word) expression, before continuing on, "JESUS CHRIST WHAT SORT OF WORLD IS IT WHERE PEOPLE DON'T HAVE THE BRAIN POWER TO REALISE HOW MIND NUMBINGLY OBVIOUS IT IS THAT YOU ARE CALLING THEM A FREAKING RETARD?!"

Comprehension dawned on Murtagh's face.

"Hey, I'm not retarded! How dare you, after all I've been through...retarded is the best anyone can come up with..."

_Thorn, am I retarded?_

_No. Or I could be retarded too._

_That's great Thorn. Reassures me, puts all my worries to rest._

_You're welcome._

"ENOUGH!", a harsh yell came from the throne. In the heat of being called retarded, Murtagh had forgotten the person he hated most.

"Enough of this insolence! Murtagh, you will take this girl to a room, I believe there is a sufficient one next to yours. Go. Leave me in peace!"

Murtagh grabbed Alice's hand and dragged her forcefully from the throne room, She cussed at him, growling under her breath some of the most colourful language in the universe, leaving Murtagh wondering where a lady could've picked up such a vocabulary.

The room was nice and simple, consisting of a black bed, mirror, table and chair.

"Don't you dare leave this room, or I swear to whatever god is listening that you'll suffer."

"Whatever, _Monsieur Retard_."

Murtagh may not have known the Monsieur bit, but he could recognise retard.

"_Thrysta_!", he yelled and before she knew it, Alice flew across the room and crashed onto the bed.

"Ow."

"You're lucky that bed's there you brat." Murtagh bit back a more violent statement as he slammed the door theatrically on his way out.

***

**A/N: you like? if you do like, REVIEW! if you like, but don't have an account, make one so that you can REVIEW! seriously, or i'll get **_**Monsieur Retard**_** to make you fly violently across rooms.**

**P.S soz it was a little (loose term) OOC. =) =) =)**


	2. Learning How to Live

**A/N: Okay, so you read the first chapter and hopefully you liked it. So here's the next one. BEWARE, Alice gets a bit of a self-insert in this chappie, but I'll try to change that ASAP (i.e. next chapter). If you're going to review (yes, you are going to review) could you please give me a bit of advice on how to make the story less of a cliché? Thanks people. Though if you don't review…well, er…you don't really wanna know what will happen to you. Yay! Now, READ AND THEN CLICK THAT EVER SO SHINY REVIEW BUTTON.**

**Chapter Two: Learning how to Live.**

Alice's eyes snapped open as her nightmare awoke her. She had been running through her deserted house screaming, before finding her parents on the floor throats slit by a smiling Galbatorix. The nightmares had been haunting her for almost the whole week she'd been in Alagaesia. Nothing could make sense anymore, more to the point; nothing could _make_ her see sense. She quietly dressed in the usual plain black knee-length dress she always wore. She would've preferred the whole "tunic-and-pants" outfit, but here in retarded-medieval fairyland, she didn't like the stares that came from "dressing like a man". She passed her reflection in the wall mirror, and gasped. She had dark rings under her eyes; her face was actually pale, even though she'd always been a bit tanned. Her dark copper-brown hair was a little flatter than usually and she was thinner than ever. Make myself inhumanly beautiful and my name and hairstyle won't be the only similarity between me and Alice Cullen, she thought to herself. She smirked as she saw that her "TWERD" badge was still pinned to her clothes, followed by the sudden longing to read her favourite series and get all angry about Jacob Black's mistreatment. Edward Cullen is so gay, huh? (No offence all you Edward fans, I just can't stop hating that evil, evil Gary-Stu) Alice turned to gaze out the window, as if she would see something a decent bit more interesting then fatty nobles pacing like snails around the courtyard.

Her footsteps echoed unnaturally through the silent walls. She felt like she was marching to her death as her shadows blackened the dead grey walls. The sound of wood on wood splintered the silence; someone must be sparring, Alice thought, she didn't really need to know who. What's-his-name, the red rider…Murtagh, that's it, she thought, was well known for being the only person bothering to get up early enough to spar. She'd never spoken to him since a week ago, when she'd witnessed his torture by dear old Galby's hand. She had tried speaking to the "fatty nobles", but she realised that gossip couldn't be relied on. Alice had gained a vague history of Alagaesia, which caused the surge of pity she felt for Murtagh, being Morzan's son would be a heavy burden on anyone's shoulders. But she couldn't stop hearing about Murtagh, and how he has become his father.

"_He has a scar on his back, from his right shoulder to the opposing hip, his father gave it to him when he was only three."_

"_His mother disappeared for a year and died a few days after she came back."_

"_No-one knows why, but he tried to escape a few months after his eighteenth birthday, he escaped. They think he went to the Varden and was friends with their rider, the farm boy, but no-one can be sure. But you should-ve heard the screaming coming from the dungeons after they brought him back. Next thing we know, he's Galbatorix's rider. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."_

Murtagh observed the wisps of gossip that were running through Alice's mind.

_The girl should really learn how to defend her mind, walking around like an open book is just..retarded? What do you reckon Thorn? I think she's a total idiot, I've never met anyone sillier._

_Huh. I didn't think so._

_Just agree with me Thorn._

_You wanted the truth._

Murtagh almost lost his temper at the pitiful solidier sparring with him. The soldier was pinned in about two seconds of standing up again, and almost crawled away from him as Murtagh turned and spat on the ground.

_You've got a problems with the whole spitting thing._

Shut up _Thorn. I suppose size and level of annoyance are linked._

_Actually, it all depemds on perspective. Humans think me a giant, but I find them mere insects._

_Thorn, don't try to be clever, you'll just embrass yourself._

Murtagh snickered at his own joke. The soldier looked like he had significant concerns for Murtagh's sanity.

You_ don't try to be clever, or _you'll_ just embrass yourself, youngling._

_Thorn, aren't dragons supposed to be smart? Cause the little bratty new girl could be more creative. _Retarded_…where the _hell_ did she get that one from.._

Murtagh hurriedly pulled his tunic on as Galbatorix's callous voice echoed through his mind.

_Get to the throne room. Quickly. Bring the girl. HURRY!_

Anger swelled in Murtagh's chest as the voice he hated even more than his father's brutally forced through his mind. "Bring the girl", bring the total brat ass-hole, more like, Murtagh thought to himself.

"YOU!!!! Yes, you, the crossdresser! The transversite! The girl who dresses like a guy or whatever you call homosexual people 'round here!" Alice pointed calmly to Murtagh, a smirk spread all to widely over her face. Murtagh's face went from an unhealthy pale pallor to the same colour of Thorn's scales. Anger welled up inside him and on an impulse calmly looked into her her eyes, blue eyes locking on green, and clearly stated one word. Just one word, Alice's most dreaded one. "_Thysta!"_

Alice flew across the room, hit a stone wall, then everything went black.

"WHEN I SAID TO 'BRING THE GIRL', I DIDN'T MEAN FOR YOU TO KNOCK HER OUT, THEN BRING HER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

A single drawn-out scream echoed around the whole room.

"I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME???!!!"

Another ear-splitting scream. It was too much. Alice flicked her eyelids open and quickly turned her head to face the torturous scene before her. Murtagh was shrieking, writhing on the floor in pain. Because of her insolence. Huh. Oh, well, he'll get over it.

"Little bit cold aren't you?" The voice speaking was barely a rasp, and Alice turned to see Murtagh's head twisted around to glare at her.

"Not, really, I just don't really care if you jumped of a cliff or not, frankly. In, fact, I might jump for joy."

"And you always struck me as such a nice, warm-hearted little girl" Another shriek.

"I thought I told you to stop your little insolent comments, Murtagh." Shriek Mark II.

It was only then that Alice remembered Galbatorix.

"Get your sorry backside back to your quarters, I don't care if you have to crawl."

Murtagh threw another agonized glare at Alice, before stumbling and swaying out of the room.

"Alice, my dear, I'm rather sorry you had to see that…_unfortunate_ incident".

Alice blanched.

"I didn't really care too much about it, actually."

"Murtagh means nothing to you?"

"I don't know him well enough. He strikes me as arrogant, proud, insolent and feminine." Alice tacked on the last one with a smirk.

"Really?"

"Really. He thinks he's so hot just because he had a hell abusive dad and was forced into servicing you and is an awful loner. Boo-hoo. Someone should really tell him that no-one cares if his brother wants him dead, that all the people he trusted have either died or think he's evil and they too want him dead. I think they're perfectly justified. He _should_ go die in a hole s'not like anyone would miss him."

"I like your attitude, Alice. You may go now." Galbatorix gestured vaguely to the door. Puzzled, Alice left. Meanwhile, Murtagh was leaning against the wall, behind the door Alice just exited, pain permantly etched onto his face.

**A/N: Awww…poor little Murty. Hehe I love wrting character torture.**

**Also, I'm really sorry updating took like a whole fricking month. Possibly more. I lost count. Listen to Short Stack on youtube and become obssesed with them like me or well…er…um…basically, you don't wanna know.******


	3. The River

**A/N: So, thank you for clicking on my story. I have news. This story **_**shall **_**be a romance but not in the way you think. Alice will be rejected by a certain someone (also not who you think, as soon I wrote the word romance I could see you all mentally cringe Murtagh – it's not gonna be him), and turn into an assassin for the dark side. Awesome, huh? Be prepared for much angst (even in this chappie). If you're gonna flame me for including romance when I said I wouldn't, that's okay. It will just make it look like I have heaps of reviews. If you have the random impulse to review, please do so. Or I'll kill you. Now, that would be fun. Joking. You can see that I've abandoned humour for angst, but just bear with me, the humour will hopefully reappear. Now go be a good girl (or boy, sorry it's a little hard to tell which when I don't even know who's going to read this) and listen to Good Charlotte, Short Stack and Linkin Park on Youtube. **_**Before**_** I have to kill you. Killing people involves way, way too much paperwork.**

**Chapter 3: The River.**

Murtagh slammed the door a little too hard. He stood motionless at the door for a few moments before collapsing to his knees in pure mental agony. It ripped through him, consuming his heart until he swore that it beat no more. Tearless sobs tore down his back; he doubled over in pain, his scar burst into flames as though it had re-opened.

His torso followed his knees as the usually proud figure of Murtagh Morzansson crumpled to the floor. His pale head and crown of spiky raven hair slammed into the hard, cold marble and his purple-ish eyelids covered his shockingly blue eyes and more tears ran down his scarred cheeks and sleep took him.

**Murtagh's POV**

My eyes flickered open only to be blinded by the morning light. My back still ached like hellfire, and both sides of my face were covered with dry tears from…from last night. I tried not to think about it too much, but it crept through my mind ever so slowly, creeping like ivy, its flames licking my heart, charring it further than I had once naively thought possible. Naïve, that was the word I wanted. Naïve, that I had once thought that there was anyone left in this world who cared if I lived or died. Being naïve was the only thing that had held, that had supported the bridge of my will power.

But what will occur when the support goes? When will-power is no longer enough to survive? The river drowns you. My willpower had held me above a black river of death and reality with a bridge of misery and naiveness. The bridge has broken and I am drowning. I collapsed again to the floor, going under. I did not resurface.

I barely noticed when the black took over the light that had tried to blind me through the lids of my eyes. The fire still smouldered at my heart, sadistic, pain in it's pure, untarnished form. It hurt more than anything I'd ever felt before.

I had always thought that there was hope for me yet, that the…_others_ would understand me eventually, but they never would. I was completely, utterly alone, there was no safe haven for me, just an abyss below my feet, of which no matter how long I fell down, I would never reach the bottom. Because the sorrow, the hurt, the pure, sadistic pain of my life had no limits to it. Its flames were fire, not just any fire, hellfire, the fire that protects the devil. Nothing could end it. Except death. And I'd fought far too hard to give up like that now.

My life, my death, they were the same, really, when you think about it. There was no difference in the black and empty abyss in which I was falling, in the heart of the unforgiving, unrelenting black fire that burned my soul. No difference between pain and reality. Because reality _was_ pain. Pain without an escape route.

***

Murtagh's light footfalls were the only sounds to be heard. His black tunic and pants hung loosely around him. They used to be too tight. He stopped at the large window, taking up almost a whole wall of the empty corridor. His thin, bone-white fingers curled around a stone pillar and his eternal blue eyes stared out at the rising sun.

_Murtagh?_

_I'm here, Thorn._

_MURTAGH! Do you know how much you scared me!!! I was worried you'd never get up, you were lying on the floor like a ragdoll, eyes open, yet COMPLETELY unresponsive…_

Murtagh tried to tune out Thorn's rant. It didn't make him feel any better.

_Thorn,_ he chastised, _That doesn't make me feel any better._

The words were empty, long void of any emotion. Murtagh's heart was different, _too _full of emotion. An overload of feeling, pain that twisted in his stomach like a rusty, serrated knife; anger which fuelled his heart with everlasting fire; the feeling of betrayal, which made the black river he was drowning in that much deeper.

***

Alice jogged through the corridors of the castle, its black walls strangely inviting, the grey sky making her feel unnaturally warm, though that could just be the exercise. She turned the last corner to her favourite part of the castle; the gigantic open window, which took up an entire wall.

This time, something was different. Someone was already there, gazing out into the night, pain written over his too-perfect face. Well, it would have been perfect if his skin had a little colour in its pallid cheeks, if you could not see the bones in his face so clearly, that it looks like the skin was not even there. His wrists poked out of his tunic sleeves, and Alice could see the scars. They looked new and she even saw a trickle of dry blood. Murtagh Morzansson had taken her uncaring words to heart.

"Murtagh?" Alice called his name hesitantly. He didn't reply or acknowledge her in any way.

"Hey, Murtagh, why are you ignoring me? Got something wrong with common courtesy?"

Bitterly, he spat out an answer; "Have you?"

Murtagh looked up at her, and she saw the pain, which blossomed behind his sapphire eyes. His eyes made contact with hers, blue and brown, and he never looked away. He wanted her to see what she had done. Alice just stood frozen, trying to make sense of his cryptic answer. She was the sort of person who noticed when people hurt her, but not when she hurt them.

Finally, she could stand it no longer. She lowered her eyes from his, and walked away. When she reached the corner, she started to run.

***

Three hours later, Murtagh was still standing at the window. Time had lost meaning to him, until his stomach growled with hunger, and a wave of dizziness overcame him, as he desperately clung to the stone window frame for support.

_Murtagh, you have to eat._

_Thorn, the fact that you assume I do not know that is an insult to my intelligence. I'm going to eat._

Slowly, clasping his hands around each thin stone pillar for support as he walked, Murtagh eventually made it to the kitchens, and grabbed himself a loaf of bread while no one was looking. As soon as he got out, he basically stuffed his face, gorging on the sweet taste of food in his stomach, something he hadn't felt for days.

_Careful, Murtagh, you're going to throw it all up again if you eat that fast._

_Stop trying to baby me, before I get angry with you._

_Murtagh, you don't have enough energy left in you to get angry._

Murtagh slowed his chewing. Thorn had a point; there wasn't any purpose to satiating your hunger, only to throw up your stomach contents. He swallowed and walked back slowly to his room, his strength restored enough to keep him on his feet. But it was not restored completely. He wondered if it ever would be.

As Murtagh entered his room, he closed the door quietly, and leant against for a few moments. Unhurriedly, he walked towards his bed, slipping his tunic off on the way and hanging it on the bed frame, before sinking into the mattress.

Murtagh slowly ripped off a chunk of bread and slid it into his mouth, savouring the taste. He had to start fighting to keep his eyes open. Knowing it was one battle he could not win, he put the bread on a cloth on his bedside table, and rolled over and slept, while he still could. Murtagh knew it would only be so long before Alice's words floated into his head again.

***

That night, Alice couldn't sleep. She lay on her back, staring upwards at the ceiling, wondering what she could have possibly done to hurt someone so much. After an hour, she found an answer. Her little spiel to Galbatorix. All the words she had so thoughtlessly thrown around, forgetting that Murtagh had just exited the room, and had left the door open. He'd heard ever mother-effing thing she had said.

She didn't realise that he could've been listening. She also knew that it had been stupid of her to believe that she'd succeeded in hiding her true opinions to Galbatorix. Alice now knew that he'd only seemed satisfied because he had known Murtagh had been listening. She had to talk to Murtagh, otherwise she would carry around the guilt for a long time.

Alice calmly knocked on his door, trying to keep her breathing even. There was no answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. Screwing up her courage, Alice carefully pushed the door open.

He was sleeping, sprawled across the bed, looking as though he had simply walked into his room and just collapsed. Alice quietly tiptoed closer.

His face threw her. It was peaceful, an expression she never thought she would never see displayed upon his face. His features were relaxed, and Alice could see how handsome he was when his wasn't frowning with worry and when his skin wasn't stretched unbearably over his skin. Something in his dreams made him smile slightly, a lit up his face until it was almost too perfect to even look at. Slowly, Alice backed out of the room. She would not disturb his peace.

***

Alice ran back into her room, confusion clouding her already confused mind. Images of her home, friends and family clouded her already messed-up brain, and as she fell to the floor, she became the second to fall under misery's power.

***

**A/N: So… do you people like the amount of angst? Also, don't worry, the next chapter isn't going to be about Alice feeling depressed, like this one was about Murtagh being depressed. So…REVIEW!!!**


	4. Breaking the Habit

**A/N: So. Chapter Four. Yeah…great. I promise that thischapter will also be angsty. I love angst, and if you're reading this, it must mean you do too. Mild swearing. So, on with the next angsty chapter…**

**Chapter Four: Breaking the Habit**

_Murtagh? _

_What, Thorn?_

_Alice Branthorn came into your room last night._

_What the fuck? Why?_

_She wanted to say sorry for what she did to you, you idiot. _Thorn was fast losing patience with his lethargic rider.

_Whatever._

_Murtagh, she's lying on the floor crying in her room. Much in the same way you did. There you go, you've got some common ground, already._

Murtagh Morzansson was nineteen years old, a slave and depressed. Basically, he wasn't feeling the best. He was in pain, actually. A lot of pain.

_Why should I go help her, Thorn? After what she did to me? She doesn't deserve anyone to help her._

_You want someone else to begin slitting their wrists out of depression, too?_

_FINE. She is not of any importance to me, anyway._

Murtagh sighed, as he quietly left his room. Alice's room was next to his, a few meters down. He walked there slowly, but gradually his pace quickened. He was impatient to get this over with.

***

-- Alice's POV--

I think I always knew that I was going to die. That one day, everything would come together, like fraying threads flowing back into a single thread, that I would know my path to emancipation. But I didn't think it would be like this.

All my life...all my life I've wanted to escape. To get to a place where people liked me for who I actually was. All of them really have no idea what it's like to live like this. To be in a fantasy world - with a complete hottie living next to you – is something I've always dreamed of. But I still don't have the very thing I want. Freedom. And now I know, that there's only one way to get it.

I never stopped to think, that my path to emancipation would be death.

But it sort of makes sense now, when I think about it. Death is my only way out of this stupid hole. Every other path is just...to hard to achieve? No that's not the word I want. I don't know what I want anymore, God, I don't know anything anymore.

Hell, I don't even know what I want to effing do with my life. It's always been about keeping dad happy. Or mum happy. Or...just keeping some other random person who I've never even met, happy. But me, what have I ever done to make myself happy? Oh, that's right. A big pile of STUPID NOTHINGNESS! Nothing, nothing at all. I'm eighteen, and I don't even know what it's like to feel happy.

I'll never know.

Should I leave something? Tell them why I did this? A letter, maybe, so if they find out what happened, where I disappeared to, they'd understand? That I wasn't good enough to cope with the pressure of being in a completely different world? Who cares what they think, anyway.

Pretence, facade. Good words to describe my life. All of bunch of stupid CRAPPY PRETENCE! The pretence of my happiness, the pretence of my freedom, all this pretence, pretence, pretence. There's nothing but pretence. "Prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet". Think it came from a poem I studied for English. Stupid, huh?

There is _nothing_ after death and...and I think I'm too scared to face that, you know what I mean? It's like...like taking the training wheels off your bike for the first time. You don't want to face the unknown by yourself. You want there to be someone to walk next to you, to make sure you don't fall off. I've got no one.

Perhaps a letter is a good idea. But they'll never even mother-fucking get it!!

Why do I even want to bother presenting their retarded faces with a reason for my death? It's not like they deserve it. They don't deserve anything at all. They should all go DIE in a HOLE!!

They'll never even get the letter, anyway.

Why am I even doing this? I don't even want to die. It's too weak. You'd have to be such a coward to do this. I'm not a coward...not a coward…coward.

"Prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet"…

No. Come on, Alice, pull it together. You made this decision ages ago. You said it yourself; you always knew you were going to die. So die. Just stop putting it off.

I don't have any other choice besides this. No other choice. Just get on with it, Alice.

I should really stop referring to myself in third person.

No, I can't. I'm not ready to die just yet. I had a life I wanted to live, places I wanted to go. How could I ever of thought of doing this?

Stupid idea, a stupid idea, stupid...

They don't deserve an answer for me to have done this. They have done nothing but plague me with their rules, regulations and expectations. Only...some part of me says that they generally care about me. The other part of me tells me that they _think_ they care about me, when really they subconsciously hold such pretence for their own stupid effing gain.

But that life I want to live, those places I want to go...I'll never get that life, I'll never go to those places. Maybe I was right in the first place. Maybe I do need to die... Maybe I _should_ die. There is nothing for me in this life but a wonderful pit of nothingness I spend my free time falling in. Wow, how fun, to spend one's free time in a FUCKING PIT OF NOTHINGNESS!

No matter how hard life gets, I don't want to die. I never have. No, I'm not dying today.

It's almost like I've been supported by a bridge of...of pretence, I suppose, is the only word. It appears my life is the essence of that particular word. How can your life be the essence of a word? I don't know, God, I don't know anything anymore. And that's the second time I've said that. Huh.

I must sound like the typical emo. Too bad I don't slit my wrists.

No one understands me, not because they've tried and failed, because they just can't be bothered trying. Because they think that they already understand me perfectly, so what's the point of even trying to understand me further? Makes sense when you kinda think about it. Maybe my death will make them understand me better. Maybe it won't. Maybe, all I can do is try. It won't matter if I fail. I won't be there to see what happens.

"To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet." Whatever.

***

--Murtagh's POV--

When I entered the room, Alice Branthorn was holding a dagger, as if she was about to stab her own heart out. I am not sure what made me do it – still today, I remain oblivious – but I ran over to her, and snatched the dagger out of her hands.

"It is against my advisement that you do that. You'll regret it, if you do." I did not think my words would sway her decision at all. Her reply was brief, but more lengthy than I had expected.

"I won't be able to regret it." It appeared she was ignorant in this matter. I, however, was not.

"You will. You'll be lying on the floor, blood leaching out of your heart, a few moments before you finally die. In those few moments, you will truly regret what you've done."

"How would you know, anyway?"

"I have died before."

"Huh, that's believable"

"I _have_ died before. However, it is within Galbatorix's power to raise the dead if the dead have not been dead long."

"Oh." I could tell that she was slightly unnerved by what I'd said. "Whatever," she continued, "It don't matter." She murmured her words, as if she wasn't sure of them, a probablepossibility.

"Since I made the rather fair judgement that you were about to kill yourself, I'd say that is does matter." It surprised me how calm I was, recalling the memories of my 'death'.

"You talk like a sophisticated retard, you know that right?" She never fails to be consistent with her own names for me. I chuckled lightly in reply, and I saw her cheek lift up slightly.

"What? No big gloat about how you were right and that I don't really want to die?"

I smiled crookedly, saying, "Were you intending for that to be a thank-you?"

She shrugged and rolled her eyes, smiling. "Whatever."

Slowly, almost regretfully, I left the room.

***

"_Eragon, you have to believe me! What the fuck is your issue with believing the fact that I am telling utter, complete truth! All you do is sit there saying "You lie, you sit upon a throne of lies!" like the stupid child that you are! You will never understand pain, you will never understand sadness. Look me in the eyes and say you don't truly believe me!"_

_Eragon paused for a moment then struck. Murtagh cried out in pain as Brisinger impaled him._

"NO!"

Murtagh woke up screaming, his hand over his heart exactly where he'd been 'impaled'. He'd been having the same dream for months now. A dream where no one believed him, or where they didn't bother to even _try_ believing him, a dream which always ended in his death. This was a nightmare Murtagh knew all to well could and probably would become reality.

At a snail's pace, Murtagh rolled over and went to sleep.

***

_Boom. Boom. Boom. The executioner's drum beat was steady. For each drum beat, Murtagh took three steps towards where his executioner was waiting upon a platform. Three steps too many. His heart beat frantically, as his foot came up on the first step._

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_Second step._

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_Third step._

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_He was in the platform. Slowly, he took a deep breath and took his final steps, head held high. He would go down in dignity today. _

_No escape this time._

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_No return this time._

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_No rising of the dead this time._

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_Murtagh knelt at the block._

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_Thorn was watching, even more scared than Murtagh._

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Drum roll._

_The axe came down on Murtagh's neck, and he knew no more._

Galbatorix's eyes flicked open. He was puzzled for a few moments, before whispering to himself, "T'was only a dream of foresight."

***

**A/N: So…you like? Well, you better. I AM FAMISHED FOR REVIEWS!!! Don't get too scared, dear old Murty **_**might**_** not actually die. Notice I said **_**might.**_** I'll try to update quicker next time. **

**I hope you liked the insight of Alice's inner thoughts before attempting suicide, I tried my best to capture the thoughts of someone completely in anguish and losing it, thoughts going at a million miles an hour.**

**Please alert me to any spelling or grammatical errors =D.**

**See ya,**

**ElfyTheEmo**


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